Moon's Wake - Prologue
by MotherofWolves
Summary: Norse sagas tell of two wolves that will consume the sun and moon, plunging the world into darkness and usher in the age of blood, Ragnarok, doom of the gods. Hati & Skoll have lived their lives in exile, hunted by the gods, hated for a fate they cannot change. When a new moon rises, how will wyrd weave these characters to their destiny? Introduction - Hati recovers the moonstone.


The night was dark and moonless with only the stars to light the heavens. Hati had been tracking a creature along the Ozark's for nearly three days now. The forest around him seemed to shudder, spilling dry leaves to the ground in a hush that made him uneasy. The scent he was following was unlike any in the nine worlds. It was a sickening, rotting stench that burned his nostrils. Even the most voracious of carrionites turned away. It was the smell of death and every living creature, magical or mundane knew by instinct alone not to go near. Hati had seen his share of death in his long life, but even he was having difficulty swallowing the urgent plea of his gut to pursue the beast. Ahead of him he heard the clacking of bone on bone, the slippery wet sound of loose muscle, the groan of aging sinew. He was here. Fifty paces off in the darkness Hati could sense its presence. All the hairs on his body erected themselves, sending a shudder across his shoulders and down his back. Already he could feel his heart speeding up and the pit of his stomach sinking with nervous anticipation.

Before him was a terrifying creature; a conjure of all the dead things it had come across while traveling the land. The skulls of nearly a dozen cattle made up the length of his spine, their horns protruding like thorns through the leathery flesh that stretched in patches, a malformed collection of rotting corpses. Its head was made from the skull of a massive boar. Its sharp tusks glistened. Dead yellowed eyes rolled from side to side. The beast stood nearly ten feet high, a lumbering mass of disjointed flesh. Magic alone maintained his form, without it, the creature would collapse from the disarray of its anatomy. The real power it held lay in the fear it created. The repulsive stench that filled the air was just a warning. The true danger came from a unique chemical created by its very existence. It caused the body of any living thing to begin releasing adrenaline. Known as the fight or flight hormone, the sudden flood of it throughout the body caused crippling anxiety and fear. Fear was Rawhead Bloodybones main sustenance.

Hati braced himself against this onslaught and reached into his pocket to retrieve his ingenious weapon. Unlike other bounty hunters of non-mortal origins, Hati had lived the majority of his life amongst the humans. Where most immortals saw them as filth, unworthy of their attention, Hati had always considered them to be useful allies, especially now with the great advances in technology they had accomplished in the last century. In his hand were two pink pills. He procured them with little cost at a local pharmacy before he had begun the hunt. Humans were so inventive. The pills were an adrenaline suppressant known as Propranolol. He threw them down his throat and advanced on the creature. Already he could feel his heart slow and the knot in his stomach ease. And to think, they had been made to cure stage fright.

"Rawhead Bloodybones!" He exclaimed. The creature turned towards his name with great effort, lazy yellowed eyes searching the darkness.

"You have stolen something of great value. I have come to reclaim it." Hati felt almost giddy to be standing in front of the fearsome Frankenstein of flesh. The medicine worked well in his hypersensitive system. Lovely.

As it stared at him the creature's frame began to shift. Bones and muscles rearranged themselves into a greater density as it readied itself to attack. For a creature that is made of dead parts he moved with surprising speed and agility. Hati had only a chance to brace himself before the charge. The tusks collided with his ribs, splintering a few and displacing the rest. The pain reminded him of the way humans described laying a hand on a hot stove. The reflexes moved the body before the brain knew what hit it. One moment he was standing in front of the creature, the next he was fifty feet away with machete drawn. His speed was an inherited gift.

"I only ask once," he chided.

Rawhead roared the guttural cry of many stretched and tortured vocal cords. Hati had fortunately known only two Rawheads that could speak coherently and that had been during the Great War when human death was rampant. He shuttered a moment, remembering the fleshy masses of death as they crept through the mustard gas, spreading their fear, growing fat on the misery mankind had inflicted on itself.

The Rawhead charged again, but now Hati was expecting him. The attack fell wide as he rolled away, his ribs already healing from the first assault.

"I'm not playing keep away all night," he mocked, "just hand it over." This time his jibe was met with a swinish squeal as the creature mutated its body once again. Legs became arms, spiked bone thrust towards the surface of its flesh, claws and teeth seemed to have been called forth from within its very frame to make it more fearsome, more deadly. It leaned over and ripped a young tree up by its roots and swung it around like a whip over its head. Hati sighed; the brute was smarter than he looked. He raised his machete and was about to charge when an electronic beeping penetrated the night. He was taken aback for a moment which allowed the creature time to swing its makeshift whip. What followed was a series of cracks, snaps and growls as Hati dodged each attempt while trying to dig the cell phone from his jacket pocket. It was with great effort that he answered in a calm voice.

"Rheada?" he answered. Now one-handed he ran along the tree line till he found a suitable rock to ricochet off of.

"Dad?" the female voice on the other end sounded unsure. Behind him the Rawhead rampaged, ripping great chucks of earth behind him in his territorial rage.

Once Hati reached the stone he jumped with accuracy to the broadened shoulders of the beast.

"Yes, did you need something?" he replied calmly as he plunged the machete repeatedly into Rawhead's fat neck.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. Madge said that you were out on an acquisitions trip."

"Nearly done," Hati couldn't help but grunt a bit. The head fell to earth.

"I just wanted to let you know I landed an awesome job. I wanted to let you know. I'm so excited."

Now severed from its construct body, the raw skinned head of the boar began to float as if marionetted by some unseen puppeteer. Hati pulled his blade up out of the mangled flesh and watched as the spirit within the skull tried desperately to escape.

"That's wonderful, sweetling. When I get back in town we can go out to celebrate." He flung the machete at the retreating head, pinning it to the ground.

"That sounds great. Just give me a ring when you're back."

"Of course. Anything else you need?" Hati jumped from the lifeless pile of carrion to the ground. He cradled the phone with his shoulder to free his other hand. Static began to crack the line.

"No, just that. I'll let you get back to your negotiations."

"Alright, well you take care." He braced a hand on either side of the snout and jaw.

"I'll see you soon, love you," she said.

"Love you too," the yellow of Hati's eyes seemed to glow as he snapped the jaw in half and retrieved the jewel from within the porcine mouth. He smiled at his victory and pocketed the jewel. The adrenaline was draining out of him, making his muscles quiver uncontrollable, but it was nothing a good sleep wouldn't cure. Rheada's words played about his brain, making him wonder what was bothering her, but it could wait. Right now all he wanted was a cold shower and a soft bed. Frost crinkled across the dead leaves of the forest floor and in a moment he was gone, leaving behind a pile of rotten corpses and ice.


End file.
